Painting
by wandertogondor
Summary: Paint was his medium, and her body was his canvas. Co-written by the lovely sweetkiwi604!


**It was an honor to collab with sweetkiwi604 on this story! She has this unique ways with words and I'm ugh it's been awesome working with her! If you haven't yet, definitely check out her stories. You won't regret it. Seriously.**

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Painting was his passion.

It was his escape from the world he'd been shackled to for all of his life. Painting allowed him to let his guard down, that tough but flawed shell he displayed to the world, and let his mind run free. It was a passion that was solely his. Not John's. Not Sam's. The one thing that he could turn to and never be let down.

Her chocolate skin glowed in the dim light of the motel room and he ran the tips of his fingers over the blank canvas, right down the smooth dip of her spine.

Cassie hadn't questioned him when he asked her to drop by or when he asked her to shed her shirt and sit on the bed turned away from him. Instead, she reveled in the feeling of his emerald eyes tracing every inch of her back. Her fingernails pinched into her palm when she felt the cool paint flow off the brush as the bristles danced along her skin.

Dean started slow. Just a touch of red along her spine and a dab of yellow over her shoulder blade.

He shivered in anticipation. It was only a matter of time before the masterpiece took on a life of its own.

He felt the cool breeze against his cheek and the sand between his toes. He heard the waves crash onto the white shores of the beach. He felt it with every flick of his wrist, every muddle of paint, smudged to perfection with the tips of his fingers. Every single little feather soft kiss he waltzed across her skin, the paint sweeping over where his lips landed.

Everything he did was by design. She was his design.

She was spread out under him, flushing with tiny red flickers wherever his paintbrush would chart the little brown freckles across the span of her back.

"Purple?" She asked, looking back at the new palette in between his fingers.

A soft smile spread across his lips. "Purple."

The tip of his brush curled into the paint, soaking in the vivid color. He took his time with this color. He put all his effort into it not because it was the finishing touches but because it was her favorite color. Dean made sure it caressed her skin. He made sure it just skimmed over the surface of her body because he wanted to break through the shell with his own fingers.

"I'm done," he announced after one last stroke filled with finality and contentment.

Cassie began to lift herself up off of the palms of her hand but Dean put his paint stained hands on her waist, pressing her back down into the warm sheets. Slowly, he crouched on the floor beside the bed, looking into her eyes and kissing her like he was a man dying of thirst.

Pulling away enough to speak, she rested her forehead against his. "How does it look?" She asked with a smile that reached the hairpin curves of her lips.

"You make it look beautiful."

He brushed his lips against hers, just barely kissing her lips. Taking her hands, Dean led her towards the bathroom. Cassie gave him a wry grin, curious. "What are you doing?"

"Shh, come here," his breath fanned across her face as he waltzed her against him.

Cassie's finger ran down his toned chest, feeling the warmth right under the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hand stopped right at the top of his jeans and she took a moment to enjoy the glint in Dean Winchester's eyes as she slid the metal button from the hole, slowly dragging the zipper down.

The bathroom wasn't as romantic as he intended. No rose pedals scattered across the floor or floating on the surface of the bath water. No vanilla-scented candles illuminating the small bathroom. No expensive champagne poured into tall glasses. It was ordinary. Dean stepped into the bath filled with comfortably hot water and sat against the wall, gesturing to Cassie to sit with him.

Once she was nestled between his legs, Dean Winchester took one last look at the immaculate masterpiece he had created on her, and slowly dragged his fingertips over the paint, breaking it apart into flakes and watched as it all burst with color as it made contact with the water.

As the myriad of color bled into the water, Cassie turned her head to look at Dean, a curious frown on her face, "I don't understand. All that hard work and now it's just gone."

Dean held onto her waist with his free hand, almost getting lost in the tufts of her curly black hair. He wasn't sure how to explain to her that it wasn't about preserving the painting but the act of letting the creativity flow out of him. He pressed a kiss into the satin skin on her shoulder and brought her close to his chest in a futile attempt to capture her warmth into every cold crevice of his being.

That was his answer.


End file.
